Heautontimoroumenos
by hikachu
Summary: Soubi and Yoite meet as children, and try to make sense of their pain and loneliness.


The waiting room is empty. Soubi stares at the floor and watches distractedly as his feet swing back and forth. His once-white trainers shoes are now gray and scuffed. Soubi wrinkles his nose and thinks he should get rid of them because Seimei only likes things that are whole and clean. Ritsu wouldn't have cared, but Seimei does. Seimei is his Sacrifice and cares, Soubi muses, and tries to make himself smile.

And when he finds he can't, he touches the bandages wrapped around his neck: lightly at first, as if to make sure that they're still there, and then his fingers press harder against fresh wounds and they hurt—the name he's just received hurts.

Then the door clicks and opens but there is no nurse calling his name: a child enters the room, instead—a scrawny kid in a woolen coat that's too big for him. When he sits down, the dark cloth twists in puffy volutes around his body, like a giant snake that's just about to eat him.

Soubi blinks and doesn't realize that he's been staring, mesmerized by the other's throat: it's covered in bandages, stained with a faint, rusty color in a few places too. Soubi wonders what's written on that skin, and if the person who held the knife loved the kid enough to dress the wounds after; and he feels confused; jealous.

The other's eyes are impossibly blue and impossibly big when they meet Soubi's gaze. They observe everything carefully but it's more out of wariness than curiosity—this much is clear, and is enough to make Soubi feel at ease again.

"The doctor," he says and realizes that he's talking only when the child jumps, startled or maybe scared. "The doctor," Soubi repeats, voice croaking and uncertain and wonders why he's opened his mouth at all. "He is—the last patient went inside half a hour ago …"

Silence.

"But. It's only the two of us after him and. Uhm. I only need to have this checked," Soubi explains, pointing at his own neck. "It won't… take long."

The little boy – who can't be older than eight or nine – tilts his head, not quite knowing what to make of Soubi's words. He tries to decide if it's okay to thank this stranger but doesn't trust his own voice so, in the end, he settles for a slow nod.

The following five minutes are made of uncomfortable silence, short, thin legs swinging and feet that can't touch the floor underneath and stolen glances. Then, Soubi decides that he must know.

"Did the person who did that love you very much?" This time, his index finger is pointing at the other's neck. Soubi knows that, if the boy nods again, he'll scream and Ritsu had taught him that self-control is everything, so he tries his best to remember Seimei's voice, Seimei's expression, Seimei's promise—that he isn't a blank slate anymore.

The child doesn't answer, merely stares: surprised, shocked. Soubi speaks again: "What's your name?"

Hesitation. As if this small, tiny creature didn't even know his own name. Then he says: "Yoite." Yoite watches Soubi warily when he gets up to kneel in front of him. Soubi tries to act as if he doesn't care or notice.

They're staring at each other when Yoite finally answers: "I… don't think they loved me." But he doesn't say that he isn't meant to be loved by anyone at all or that there's very little he knows about love: Tsukasa's hand dragging him out of the basements on sunny days to play outside is all he can think of. And sometimes, just sometimes, when Yukimi hands him a cup of lemonade Yoite feels oddly warm, but he doesn't want to think of that as love or affection.

"I see…" Soubi whispers, but doesn't smile as he thought he would. There's no pride in the way he bares his throat and guides Yoite's fingers to brush against it. "This is my name. You can't see it under the bandages, but it's there. Receiving a name is really important; it's like a spell. Now I belong to the person who named me. I'm not alone," he explains, gaze fixed on the porcelain face in front of him: there is an odd kind of fascination in those blue eyes now, and Soubi tries to use that as a reason to feel finally proud.

"Does… Does it hurt?" Yoite asks, looking intently at the white wrappings but not into the other's eyes. His small fingers are moving on their own now.

"He…" Soubi coughs. "He asked me. If I wanted it to hurt." And he doesn't know what is this supposed to be: who is he trying to convince exactly that what he has is enough and is good. "It was my choice, and I chose pain because I wanted to belong to him. Pain—Pain is—"

"I was scared."

"…Eh?"

"I was scared when it happened. Even if I knew I shouldn't. But it hurt too much, and I ran away."

Soubi sighs.

"But if you run, nobody will ever want you—"

"I—I don't care. I…" the child trembles, searching for the right words. "I don't have anything I can give in return. I already know nobody will ever want me. It's not… important."

Soubi studies him and doesn't understand.

"Love hurts too, you know. _Being loved_ hurts really a lot. Don't you want the one you love to take your ears?", he asks, gaze shifting to the cream-colored hat Yoite's wearing and imagines two kitten ears laying flat underneath, and a slick, black tail wiggling somewhere under the large coat.

"I—I don't want anyone to take my ears—!" Yoite exclaims, voice shrill and high-pitched now, palms instinctively reaching out to cup them: rosy and shell-shaped and maybe a bit too big.

"You're… weird." Soubi concludes. "You—I guess you're still a kid, but…" But love fades away. Feelings change. Seimei told him so too. Is it really so important to be loved when you can be owned by someone? Are the two things really that different? And Soubi doesn't know because he can't understand yet, and he thinks then that understanding is not important either, because he's Seimei's and everything Seimei says is true, becomes reality.

And Yoite's head crashes against the wall when Soubi kisses him, mouth gently closing on his lower lip, and Yoite didn't know another person could be this warm—like Yukimi's lemonade and more than that. There's something trickling on his chin and Yoite realizes it's saliva and when his lips are pulled apart he wants to push this boy he doesn't know away and then run and run and run. He doesn't want this; doesn't want anyone being this close to him and so he squirms and almost cries because loneliness is all that he's left; all that he's ever had.

"This is what love is like," Soubi says then, absolutely serious. His lips are red and swollen; Yoite doesn't want to think that his own are probably looking the same right now. He lowers his gaze and grits his teeth; he does not feel disgusted but immensely sad and alone in a way that's new to him: as if he's missing someone he hasn't even met yet; something he's always wanted for himself without knowing it.

It hurts, yes, but there's no love in this. Only pain and longing. And when Yoite tells Soubi so, something about the older boy's expression breaks: for some reason, this moment feels like Ritsu is loving him and throwing him away again and Seimei's blade sinking into his flesh for the second time, except that now Soubi cannot find a wall or a name (or a lie) he can cling to. It's like drowning.

But neither Soubi nor Yoite dare to cry, and simply let life swallow them alive.


End file.
